


blue straggler

by thebeasknees



Series: The Art Of Colliding [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alcoholic Parental Figures, Bisexual Evan Hansen, Boys Being Boys, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Coping, Crushes, Cynthia Murphy Is A Bitch, F/M, Found Family, Heidi Hansen Is Doing Her Best, I Swear It Isn't As Angsty As The Tags Make Them, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Larry Murphy is a Bitch, M/M, Manipulation, Mark Is A Bitch, Miguel Is Awful, Not Very One Sided Affection, Original Male Character - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Pining, Soft Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Angst, Trans Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), but they dont know that yet, mental child abuse, physical child abuse, rape(mentioned), school fights, tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeasknees/pseuds/thebeasknees
Summary: On the first day of eighth grade, Evan stumbles upon a particularly beaten up looking Connor Murphy.OR: Two stars collide.
Relationships: Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy, Cynthia Murphy/Larry Murphy, Evan Hansen & Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen & Heidi Hansen, Evan Hansen & Jared Kleinman, Heidi Hansen & Connor Murphy
Series: The Art Of Colliding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127180
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. holding it down up in the front

**Author's Note:**

> Tw for mentions of blood, suicidal ideations and past violence.

Middle school is kind of awkward.

  
  
  


Forget that. He’s putting too much good on it’s name. It  _ is  _ weird. It’s the weirdest thing he’s ever gone through, and, trust him, there have been quite a few weird things that have happened before middle school that he still thinks about and can’t believe it happened. Sometimes, he likes to refuse it ever did.

  
  
  


The point is; it’s eighth grade this year. His big brother loves talking to him about how horrid and awful it will be. Though, he did that for seventh grade. And sixth. Fifth, fourth- all the way the first.

  
  
  


Evan has pulled through each and every time. He thinks he’ll make it through yet again this time. 

  
  


Everyone likes to warn him about things, likes to tell him what to watch out for. It’s almost like every single time, he’s been what other people have to worry about.

Gosh that’s… so weird and edgy. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

David loves warning him about things, like he knows it all. Evan doesn’t think he knows anything other than how to never shut up.

The school bus is rolling over these little bumps in the street. Evan’s pretty sure somebody and their girlfriend is making out in the backseat. Which is…

Is..

  
  


None of his business. Not his to tell. Even though they are literally right across from him, he’s pretty sure he can just ignore it or whatever. Not a big deal. He’s seen worse.

It’s still kind of gross, and that’s probably really slut-shame-y or something and he needs to get it together. It isn't a big deal.

  
  
  


The bus pulls over, right in front of this house. The weeds in the front yard are overgrown and the house, in general, is all fucked up. The door looks like it takes a little bit of pushing to get into. The left window is cracked through. Evan wouldn’t ever expect much more from this crappy little town, but he guesses that some people have been living here for a bit longer.

Evan moved here when he was seven, right after his Dad left in that little truck thing.

The kid that walks out doesn’t resemble the house. Even though it’s beaten down, the house, in general, doesn’t have many stains. A pure white color. It’s almost… unrealistic, how much the house differs from the front yard. The kid is wearing all black clothing, and he’s long and gangly. He has a few pimples here and there all over his face. He looks messy. Unkempt. His hair is pretty long, and loosely fluffled over his face. 

  
  
  


He walks into the school bus, and  _ now  _ Evan can get a good look at him. It’s Connor Murphy.

He feels his heart do this stuttery, weird thing, and he guesses that it’s fear.

  
  


But Evan doesn’t feel much of that anymore.

He doesn’t feel much of anything anymore.

  
  


Connor sits next to him, pushing his bookbag down to the floor of the bus and looking away. 

  
  
  


As Connor sits there, rocking with the bus, his heart beat speeds up all over again and he kind of shifts in the seat of the school bus. Evan doesn’t really know what to do with this sudden change of seating arrangement. Most of the time, the guy sits all the way in the front. It might be to keep safe, might be because nobody likes the front seat. Can’t get away with much there. 

  
  


As the bus pulls to a stop, everyone rises, even though they’re supposed to wait for the bus driver(Mrs.Snow) to let them up. Connor stumbles up. His way of walking is strange. Particular. He has absolutely horrible posture, and his footsteps are so light.

  
  
  


The bus drives away, and now he’s all alone.

All alone, like always.

  
  
  
  
  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


It’s the same as it’s always been. Not very surprising, honestly. Things don’t change much for Evan. He’s sitting in the middle of the room, which is something he learned in sixth grade. If you sit in the middle of the classroom, it won’t seem like you’re hiding, or like you’re practically begging to be called on by the teacher. Plus, he’s got the window view. That’s even nicer. 

  
  
  


His new schedule isn’t too complicated. Just a bunch of letters and lines and dumb things that’ll probably never help him when he’s old and acts like he knows everything and he’s adult-ish. 

  
  


If he even makes it past eighteen. No- that’s pushing it. If he even makes it past sixteen.

Whatever. He doesn’t have much to look forward to anyway. 

  
  


Jared is drifting, and his words are getting harsher and harsher. It used to just be something playful, something that wouldn’t linger in the back of his mind and eat and gnaw at him. It’s painful, being talked to like that. Not like he hasn’t dealt with worse.

  
  
  


There’s  _ always  _ been a ‘worse.’ He always tells himself that it could be worse, that this is better, that it could be horrible and Jared could just leave him and he doesn’t want that. 

  
  
  


Evan likes keeping his circle small. Small enough to only one person- he latches onto things, and people, and he doesn’t want to be annoying or abrasive or a burden. It’s dumb, but it keeps him safe.

  
  
  


Jared might be mean, but he could be much more of a dick if he wanted to be.

  
  


Evan’s science teacher tells him that he’s ’so mature’ for his age. Like that’s supposed to be a compliment.

  
  


Whatever. He’s being awkward and dumb and stupid. It probably is, and he’s just being bitter.

  
  


The class is finally over, and now it’s time for lunch. Lunch isn’t the best part of the day, because he has to worry about people watching him eat and the worry about them thinking that like the food he chose is like weird or whatever even though he doesn’t even bring food from home so they’re gonna think he’s poor or something and they’ll stare longer and he won’t be able to tell them that that’s not the case because what if that’s not what they’re thinking and they’re just staring at him and he’s just being embarrassing and dumb and stupid and nervous over eating things like a normal human being and-

  
  
  


Evan doesn’t like lunch. 

So, most of the time he goes to the gym to eat. He knows Jared might be angry at him for not showing up today, but he kind of doubts it. Jared’s been doing homework for the popular kids, and that wins him a spot at their table. They poke fun at his glasses sometimes, and his lisp, and there’s this look on his face. This sad, sad look.

  
  


It makes him sad. Seeing Jared sad. But another part of him thinks; now he knows exactly how it feels to be treated like a public inside joke. Which is even worse. How can you be a  _ public  _ inside joke? How does that even work?

Sometimes, he knows it’s awful, but sometimes, he kind of likes seeing that look. On bad days, when Evan feels awful and terrible and crappy.. It feels good. Seeing him get a taste of his own medicine.

That’s mean of him.

He’s probably like a weird gross sadist or something. Evan is gross.

  
  
  


He turns the corner, and the first thing he sees is Connor Murphy on the dirty tile floor. He’s coughing up blood, has bruises all over him. His lip is busted. Evan feels like panicking, and his stomach flips. This… isn’t good. There are no teachers in the hall, nobody at all, was Connor attacked?

  
  
  


_ No shit, sherlock,  _ He thinks, and contemplates on checking on him. He knows it’s awful of him, but he can’t… he can’t just jump into situations like this, he has to think, he has to think, he has to..

Evan fast walks over to the boy’s side and sits next to him. “Uh, crap, dude, uh.. Are you okay? Do you- I don’t know, Would you like if I- If I got you to the nurse’s office?” 

  
  
  


Connor just coughs more, and tries to sit up on his hands, but those are bruised too. “ _ Hey,  _ Don’t be stupid, don’t do that. You’re hurt. Let- Let me help you.” He picks him up by the shoulders, and lets him lean onto his arm. Evan notices that he’s kind of… skinny. Like. Not in an unhealthy way, but in a He Doesn’t Eat Well way. Fragile. Their arms side by side are noticeably different in size.

  
  


Connor mumbles something like ‘get the fuck off of me’, but Evan ignores it. He's hurt. Not like he can throw a punch when he’s like this.

  
  


A teacher is passing them. “Excuse me- mam, uh, he’s hurt!” The teacher runs over to him.

  
  


Finally.

  
  


To the nurse’s office they go.

  
  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  


In the office, the nurse has Connor lay down. He won’t talk, and he won’ t look at them in the eyes. It’s kind of agitating, but Evan ignores it.

  
  
  
  


“What’s your name?” Evan asks, even though he knows exactly what his name is. Connor gives him this look, like he also knows that Evan already knows the answer. He probably thinks he’s some weird liar that’s like trying to fill in the silence with small talk. SMall talk is absolutely, positively awful. It’s like. The devil in conversation form.

  
  
  


If the devil is even like. Real. Obviously there’s evil and stuff, but doesn’t evil entirely depend on , like, the person that’s perceiving it?

Doesn’t really matter. Words are stupid, he’s tired of words. 

“Connor. Yours?”

“Evan.”

  
  


Connor nods at him and looks away, only to look straight back again. “Why did you help me?”

Evan feels kind of confused. DId he expect to just be.. Left there? Like, what type of person sees some beat up kid coughing up blood and thinks ‘ _ not my problem’? _

Probably the type of people that left him there.

  
  


The nurse says Connor’s parents aren’t picking him up. Connor just picks up his bookbag and stands up.

  
  


He says he doesn’t want to report it.

Evan feels this angry bubble up in him at the sound of that. It doesn’t really make any sense, he doesn't know why he’s just choosing to ignore this.

And plus, isn’t it like. Probably illegal to let an extremely bruised and beaten child still go to school? That should be illegal. Right?

Right?

Evan has the next class with him. He contemplates asking the magic question, thinks and thinks, but it’s five times quicker than usual because he’s leaving and Evan has to fucking say something holy shit.

“Wanna walk- walk with me to science class?”

Connor gives him this stare. This deadly, stone cold stare and for just a moment he thinks he’s totally gonna get beaten up or something stupid like that and heshouldn’t have even opened his dumb mouth this is what he gets for attemtpting to befriend someone nobody wants to be his friend nobody nobody nobody nobody-

“Sure. Just hurry up.”

  
  


Oh.

Oh.

Okay then.

Okay, then.

  
  



	2. itching for a thing you can't find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't know what he wants. Doesn't know what he needs, either. Sometimes this empty feeling in the front of his stomach twists and turns. It demands. And it yearns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs in this chapter. Tell me if you find some.

Connor's got this itch.

  
  


He doesn't know what to do with it. He wants to be known. He wants to feel understood, wants to be discovered. There's that small part of him that wants to be around people. So tiny, but it's in the back of his head, and it pounds so hard at him. Longing.

  
  


He doesn't know what he wants. Doesn't know what he needs, either. Sometimes this empty feeling in the front of his stomach twists and turns. It demands. And it yearns.

  
  


And he can't give it anything. Tears stream down his eyes every single night because he doesn't know what's wrong with him, why he's like this, why…

  
  


Fuck.

Fuck, he has no idea.

Mr. Wandson (A very ugly last name) is Connor’s favorite nurse since like. Forever. He’s young, maybe twenty seven or twenty eight, even though Connor doesn’t really think of him as young. He wonders if he’ll ever make it to twenty eight. Doesn’t life get a little bit boring , that far into it?

The idea of nothing being new anymore scares him. Just a little bit.

A lot.

He’s very pale, for a person that lives in Florida, with a few freckles scattered around his face. Tall, too.

He’s kind of scary. When the principal talks to him, he gets this hard, annoyed look on his face.

He gave Connor a piece of paper with his number and address on it, one day, after a fight in seventh. ‘You can come around anytime, kid,’ pausing for a moment to mess around with Connor’s hair. ‘Anytime.’

Mr. Wandson calls him ‘kiddo’. In sixth grade, after he got into a fight with some kid and cried and cried about the bruise on his knee, Mr. Wandson was the one to talk to him. Put some cream and a bandaid on it, even though it wasn’t an open cut.

Connor cried in reaction to nearly everything, no matter how horribly embarrassing it was. Everything in him flooded over often like there was a weak dam for years holding all that hatred and anger back for years. Little by little, these cracks in the wood would let some water out. Just enough to keep it all from crashing down.

Just enough.

But people have to deal with the consequences of these little bits of water breaking out. Other people.

  
  


It's still in his room, hidden under his mattress. The number.

When Evan asks him to walk with him to science class, Connor doesn’t know what to do with that. Nobody’s been willing to talk to him since he threw a printer at a teacher in 2nd grade.

He didn’t mean to do that. He was getting frustrated with this stupid math problem, and she was trying to help him, and then she put her hand on his shoulder and she was touching him and it made him so angry, so, so angry, and then-

And then he pushed it onto her foot. 

  
  


She had to go to the hospital. It was a heavy printer. Apparently.

When he got home that faithful(Not very faithful) day, Larry grabbed him by the arms and shook him. Screamed at him. ‘Connor, what the hell is wrong with you?!’ he screamed at him, screamed and screamed until Connor’s ears felt numb against the hot yell of air against his cheek. 

  
  


When he looks back to those memories, loud and creaky and just hanging onto his memory for dear life, he tries to focus hard on what his dad’s face looks like. Tries to remember what the old house looked like, what the leather couch felt like against his body. What his bedroom looked like.

  
  


But.

Nothing ever comes up.

It’s been years since he’s seen him. 

Ugh.

Jerk.

Whatever.

  
  


Evan’s sitting next to him in class, writing down stuff on his paper. The hot summer is beating through the windows and onto his peers and himself, and Connor huffs as he pulls down his sleeves. 

“Aren’t you- uh. Aren’t you hot?” Evan mumbles, making a nodding motion to the grey sweatshirt.

Connor shakes his head, wiping away the beads of sweat rolling down his face. Evan looks very not convinced, but looks away anyway.

He buries his head in his arms, maybe to drown out how loud the class is being. There’s too much heat, and too much noise. It’s all just.. Too much.

  
  


Evan taps him, and Connor slaps his hand away. “ Don’t touch me.” There’s a bite in his voice, but Evan doesn’t seem to flinch. Only nods and mumbles an apology, looking onwards to the teacher. 

Now he feels bad.

  
  


“Shit, dude, sorry. Just- hasn’t been a good day for me. Today.”

  
  


“It’s- it’s fine. I understand. “

“No, it’s not fine, I shouldn’t have-’

“Are you having problems with the science project?” Evan interrupts, softly, looking at Connor’s paper. 

  
  


He feels his face get all hot and warm. Damn, is it that obvious?

Science isn’t exactly his thing. Neither is math. None of school is his thing. He has to stay still for eight hours of the day, try to pay attention to teachers that are so obviously tired of their job, be around a bunch of kids that think he’s some demon that ascended from the depths of hell- none of school is appealing to him.

  
  


Except lunch.

He gets to eat during lunch. There’s never much food in the house, and when there is, it doesn’t last for very long.

He’s gonna have to steal something, later, If he wants anything to eat.

Connor’s good at that. He’s good at lying.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I mean I am.” He trips over his words, and Evan gives him this dopey, soft smile, and those few moments where he feels like he’s being made fun of and bile is rising in his throat disappears.

“Okay,” He starts, “What are you having problems with?”

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the week. Isn’t usually how Connor’s days go. Like. Objectively. He wonders what’s making it so different, but it clicks in his dumb head that it’s Evan. He’s the difference in Connor’s life.

  
  


Evan tells him stupid little jokes about trees, and rambles on and on for the entirety of lunch about how his day went and the teachers and how stupidly hot it is.

He never knew someone so nervous could talk so much. It’s friday, which means it’s a pizza day. 

Nobody has sat with him since fourth grade. He’s always been labeled as the freak, someone to watch out for, what american dream parents tell their goody two shoe kids as they walk out the door to watch out for.

  
  


But Evan doesn’t seem to care about that, even though sometimes he’s still a little bit awkward. The tension used to be so thick you would have to cut through it with a knife; but now, even though sometimes it’s like walking on eggshells,

It feels like a new normal.

He has a feeling it won’t be around for long. Everything crashes, eventually. At least everything in his life. Nobody stays for too long. Just long enough to tell him he’s amazing and then turn on him, back facing away when he needs more.

Too much.

He needs too much. He’s an inconvenience.

  
  


Connor calls himself a freak a lot. A dumbass, a living garbage can. Calls himself a bunch of things.

Evan looks at him with this strange look and says, everytime, ‘I don’t think you’re a freak, Connor.’

And all he can think is, _fuck_ , this one will hurt.

  
  
  



	3. all you know is war

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared and Evan have a conversation. Connor and Evan at Evan's house for just a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes I make are my own fault bc i have no beta reader. Tired author check lmao

It’s monday all over again. For the first week of eighth grade, Evan doesn’t really think it was that bad.

Probably because Connor was there. Or is. He doesn’t really know where they stand. Are they friends? Is there a certain amount of time you have to know each other to be friends? Is there a rulebook?

He’s so socially behind. Like. Really, really behind. He thinks he left all his ability to have proper conversations with people in like.. Kindergarten. Even before that, honestly. Maybe he’s always been this way. Maybe he’ll always be this way and never get better.

Maybe he’s meant to be alone forever and nervous and sweaty and he’ll never, ever, never feel better.

Probably.

Most likely.

  
  


Connor doesn’t seem to mind that his hands are sweaty, or that he stutters. 

Connor listens to him. Even though he mumbles and sweats and he’s weird, he listens.

That’s..

It’s something.

It’s really something.

Or Connor’s just pitying him and entertaining his own savior complex or something. Evan has always been the type of person to get ‘awed’ at. He’s always had people pity him. Look at him and think, ‘well, I’m nice, so I’ll sit next to him.’ and then try to force him into a conversation and get sick of how nervous they’re making him like. Five seconds in.

  
  


That’s always a thing.

“Shut up’, he tells his brain. It doesn’t listen, obviously, because it’s a brain, but he feels a bit of a satisfaction in telling it to leave him alone.

The second week went.. Fast. Like. Really fast. Most of the time, his days drag on, boring and rough and tiring, like he’s a slug on a warm summer day.

On the bare sidewalk. With no other slugs.

Not moving.

But now, he was on the sidewalk with one other edgy, black haired slug that curses like it’s a language of its own.

At least he’s not a lonesome slug anymore.

Connor plops down next to him, just like he always does, and shifts his black boots (That make clangy sounds as the chains on them clash together) onto the back of the bus’s seat.

Evan looks at him and gives him the warmest grin he can manage, which probably just looks like a pathetic grimace. He doesn’t smile much. 

Connor raises an eyebrow at him, and gives him this feral smile back that looks like he’s really happily baring his teeth before grabbing his bookbag and holding it to his chest.

  
  


Connor has braces.

Evan’s never realized that until now.

  
  


“‘Sup, Hansen,” Connor has a habit of spreading his legs out and sitting all weird on the seat. He seems set on taking up as much space as possible, but Evan doesn’t really mind. He’s really tall. Not much of a wonder that he needs to spread his legs all wonky and weird.

“Hi, Connor.”

“You missed me?” Connor asks him, hand pressed against his boot. He’s kind of.. Playful. Like. Oddly enough. Evan kind of likes it.

  
  


“Obviously not.” He responds, rolling his eyes dramatically. Connor rolls his eyes dramatically right back, and he holds his hand to his forehead, making a sickeningly sexist impression of a damsel in distress. 

Evan hears someone whispering behind them. Hears his name, too. Connor looks like he’s tensing up.

  
  


“Hey,” Evan prompts, because he knows that Connor’ll pop like a too far shaken soda can if rubbed the wrong way. “Fo- Forget them, okay? They’re just being.. Idiots without anything else to do. It doesn’t bother me.” Evan is lying, he knows he is, but Connor seems to relax a little.

  
  


When they get into school, he walks Connor to class. He has this.. Weird fear now. Of leaving him alone again. No matter how much shit he talked, or how tall he walked, he couldn’t fight multiple people. More less -one- person. 

Evan walks to homeroom and sits down.

  
  


It’s monday all over again.

But this time, with a friend to withhold this teenage nightmare with him.

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

When gym comes around, Evan tries to act like maybe the air isn’t full of axe cologne and some type of fruit-ish perfume watered down by the smell of sweat and heat and possible pee. They’re outside, because of course they are, and Evan doesn’t really see it coming when Jared runs right next to him.

They have to do two full laps. No biggie.

Jared looks him up and down, trying to keep up with him. “Why are you-” Jared starts, huffing and puffing between breaths, trying to keep up, “Why are you talking with that Connor guy?” 

Evan just speeds up, and he makes this groaning sound. “A- Are you giving me the-phew- silent treatment right now? What’s your problem?”

Evan stops. 

Turns to look at him.

Feels this undeniable, growing anger flip in his stomach. He makes this sound in the back of his throat that sounds like an agitated hum. “What do you care? We’re family friends, Jared. Y- You do your thing, I do mine, and I come over when you need car insurance.”

Jared frowns, and opens his mouth to speak, but then shuts it. “That’s like- fine. Or whatever. I don’t care. But you’re gonna get in trouble or something. He’s like. Textbook bad dude, Ev.”

  
  


The nickname makes Evan want to hit him.

“If you’re worried about your reputation, st- stop talking to me at school. That simple.” He moves to turn around to continue, because the gym teacher will realize they’re talking instead of running and they’ll both get an extra lap, when Jared grabs his arm to stop him.

“ Listen, Evan-”

“God,  _ what _ ?”

“This isn’t about the insurance, I’m-”

“Then what exactly is it about, Jared?”

“He’ll end up hurting you.”

Evan pauses, and he leans in close. “More than you hurt me?”

The gym teacher yells at them to get on with it.

Evan turns around, and continues to jog.

This time, Jared doesn’t call for him again.

Good.

Evan doesn’t want him to.

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Lunch goes well. Better than it usually is, but, having someone there is different.

Having Connor there, specifically, is different.

Evan notices that he compares himself to a lot of things while he talks. A blood sniffing shark, a ticking time bomb. A bunch of strange, abstract things that wouldn’t really make sense if it wasn’t that Connor was the one saying it.

Connor scarfs up his food like he won’t be getting much later, and only then does EVan realize how thin he is. It’s been brought to his attention before, but, like, he gets a close up more often, now that Connor doesn’t mind it when they touch knees or shoulders, or when Evan pokes him to get his attention.

It’s kind of worrying.

They’ve been oddly silent the entire time of lunch, and Evan thinks of a quick icebreaker. “Do - Do you have any siblings?” He questions, and Connor makes a brief nodding motion. “ A sister. But in the divorce, uh. She went with my Dad.”

Evan frowns. Sees little prickles of tears collect in _ Connor’s eyes and crap crap crap shit why did he even say anything he’s made Connor cry he makes Connor cry, I _ -

“I’m sorry. That you can’t see her.” 

Connor seems uncomfortable, like he doesn’t like crying. WIpes away those tears and clears his throat, looking away. “It’s whatever.”

Silence.

  
  


“Hey, uh,” Evan starts, picking at his nails and twisting them around. There’s barely anything left of his nails, but he’s still knitting at it. “Do you want to come over? To my house. My Mom isn’t really home until really late, and I wouldn’t.. I wouldn’t mind having some- uhm, company?”

Connor looks at him, and Evan can see the brief moment where his walls go right back up, staring at him all weird and calculating.

And then he relaxes, and offers him this iffy grin. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice. But. Like. I have to be gone by six, ‘cause my Mom’ll be home by then.”

  
  


Evan feels giddy and warm and fuzzy and he likes Connor, he thinks he’s the coolest person he’s ever met.

“Hm. Okay.”

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  
  


Evan watches as they pass Connor’s trailer park and pass his house as well.

He watches as Jared gets off the bus, all his cool camp friends next to him or whatever, and he watches as he gives him this last glance before turning around and getting to his house.

His neighborhood is next. 

It’s not as bad as Connor’s. A little messy, but not as bad as Connor’s. 

Connor is asleep.

And snoring. 

He’s bent over at this weird position and has his head leaned against the back of the seat in front of them.

That’s probably very unsanitary.

“Connor,” He mumbles, pushing him a little to get him awake.

Connor’s hair is twisted all the way and that, like little squid legs, pointing outwards and inwards and twisted sideways. It makes him look like he has a bunch of snakes in his hair, and that plus his very tired looking face, Evan has to stop himself from not. Like. Bursting out laughing.

  
  


“We’re here.” Connor makes a sound of agreement and follows slowly behind them as they get out the bus. There are a few whispers and mumbles and giggles behind them.

Evan, as he walks out, flicks them off.

Connor is good. He’s nice to talk to and he’s loud and excitable and he likes really specific things like stars or jeans worn inside out and Monsters Inc and he’s good.

Connor is good.

He doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.

  
  


And whoever thinks differently is wrong.

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Connor seems to really like Evan’s room.

He won’t shut up about how nice the windows are, and how clean everything ‘wow, evan, what the hell do you need so much food for’ and this and that and the third. He learns plenty of things while Connor is home.

Or at his house.

Whatever.

Connor’s favorite food is mac and cheese. He knows that because when Evan said he was making mac and cheese for them, Connor made this sigh-ish sound that most of the time means that he’s really, really happy about something.

Connor talks to him about a bunch of things. Can’t seem to stay on one subject, either. Talks to him about the sky and how beautiful it is and talks to him and cereal and how capitalism is, apparently, the root of all evil and his favorite flowers and gravity falls and he just.. He talks.

More than Evan has ever heard him talk.

  
  


When the food is done, Connor seems to snap out of this little talkative bubble he’s popped into and seems kind of sheepish as he eats.

“... Sorry. I talk too much. I’m like, totally stupid or whatever. Fuck. Sorry.”   
  


Evan looks at him and frowns. “You’re not stupid.”

Connor pushes his hair behind his ear. It’s like.. Kind of cute. He bites his lip until it’s pink and looks like he’s trying to suppress a shy smile. It’s really cute.

Wait. That’s a weird thing to think. Connor is like.. A dude. Dudes can’t be cute.

Evan needs to get it together.

When six o clock hits, Connor nearly jumps out of his seat and practically stumbles out the house, grabbing his book bag and waving goodbye.

Evan ignores the flutter of a feeling warm in his chest when Connor looks at him all kind and open as he runs down the street.

He tries to ignore it.


	4. why'd you only call me when you're high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets a call from Miguel. He gets the number from under his mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: substance abuse, manipulation, slightly graphic depictions of past rape, blood

When Connor opens the door, there’s this sick, plummeting feeling in his stomach as the smell of his house fills his lungs.

He knows he shouldn’t really be surprised. This is an often occurrence, in his time at home.

The alcohol fills the air. He likes to think of it as something different, when he’s too tired to function. Likes to think about a better place he could be. He takes deep breaths into his pillow that he’s drowned in his mother’s perfume and thinks of it as her next to him instead of her on the couch, a bottle hanging from her numb, long fingers.

But he can’t really ignore it. Not this time.

When she glances over to him, the sinking feeling only becomes more profound. Her eyes have large, dark eye bags under them. He kneels next to her.

When she’s like this, her eyes go all lifeless. He doesn’t like thinking about the idea of her not being alive.

“Hey, baby. How was your day at school today?” She reaches out to brush his cheek and he represses a flinch. She doesn’t like it when he does that.

He opens his mouth to answer, but she’s already half asleep. 

“I’m the.. I’m the only one that really loves you.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that, frozen under her touch, so he just pulls away and retreats to his bedroom.

The warmth his bed gives him is reassuring. He hates how much he does it, but sometimes Connor brushes his hands through his own hair and wishes it was her.

He wishes it was her.

  
  


His phone rings. Dumbly, he thinks it’s Evan until he realizes that they haven’t traded numbers yet.

He picks up his phone. It’s buzzy and warm in his hands, probably because of how much he uses it. Doesn’t really bother looking at the name.

“Hello?”

That’s a voice he recognizes. It makes his lip quiver and shake against the cover pulled close to his face. His legs, bare under the blankets, shut close.

“Connor? Are you there?”

_ You’re being choked. You can’t breath, can you? Why can’t you scream? _

_ Speak up, Connor. _

“Listen, Connor, I just really wanted to apologize for what happened. I really didn’t mean to, it was just an accident.”

_ There are scratches and bite marks all over your thighs. There’s nothing left of you, is there? Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you get him off of you? _

_ Why didn’t you try harder? _

“It really wasn’t even that big of a deal, dude. I was just joking around.”

_ There’s blood. _

_ It stings. _

Connor shuts the phone off.

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t know what they’re shaking from. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why can’t he breathe, why can’t he fucking breathe, why is it so hard to breathe?

He can’t do this.

He can’t do this, he needs out, he needs out, he needs out. He can’t be here.

Connor sticks his hand under his mattress and tugs the piece of paper with a number and address on it and gets out.

Because that’s what he needs.

He needs out.

  
  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Connor’s running.

He doesn’t really know where he’s running. There’s this burning feeling in his chest and he has absolutely no idea where he’s going. He just likes that he’s running towards something and that he’s chasing something and that the feeling of being in control of something is finally taking him over.

He knows that he’s crying.

  
  


He knows that he’s probably being, like, super dramatic or something. Like. This is some shit that would happen in a book, or a stupid teen movie, but make him a short pretty straight girl that has some savior complex boyfriend or something that’s running after her.

  
  


He’s a total loser.

  
  


He looks at the number in his hand.

Looks to his phone.

Types it in.

Mr. Wandson picks up.

“Hello, Benji Wandson here, how can I help you?”

Connor pauses. “Uhm.. Mr- Mr. Nurse. Benji. Or. Uh- Wandson. Or whatever. I need some help.”

“Kid?”

  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Mr. Wa- Benji’s house is nice.

Like, Really, really nice.

Not because of status or the neighborhood or whatever. It just smells good and it feels warm and it’s something different from the cold air outside that was pressing hard on him. It’s small, the house. A bedroom and a living room and then a kitchen, everything basic. 

  
  


“I don’t- I’m..” Connor is stuttering and he hates that he’s stuttering and he’s being so stupidly vulnerable, it was a dumb idea to come here, he’s just stupid, stupid, stupid.

Connor has a blanket around him. It smells like chicken soup and some type of cologne watered down.

Benji gives him a cup of something. Soup. It smells good.

“Go on, kid, drink. You’re freezing.” 

There’s silence, for a little while.

“.. So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

Connor shakes his head, and when he feels tears coming up again, he tries his best to like. DIscreetly wipe them away.

Mr. Wandson pulls him in by his shoulders. “It’s okay to cry.”

And then the dam breaks.

Connor is so, so stupid for acting like this and he’s even stupid-er for trying to lean on anyone or let anyone take care of him because he doesn’t  _ need  _ to be taken care off, he’s been doing just fine on his own, he’s been doing  _ fine. _

And now he’s crying even more because he’s crying, and the tears seriously won’t stop, and he’s hiccuping and rubbing his nose and this is awful everything is awful.

His throat feels all scratchy and restrained and gross, and the more he tries to repress it, the more he sobs.

Mr. Wandson pats his shoulder the entire time.

  
“We’re gonna wake you up early and get you to your house so your Mom doesn’t worry, okay?”

“Don’t call her that.”

He makes a stunned face and tilts his head to the side. “ Call her what?”

“My Mom.”

“.. Okay, Con. Okay.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry


End file.
